


The Demon Meg: a History

by slasher48



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Demisexuality, Demonization of a Female Demon, Episode: s06e10 Caged Heat, Episode: s07e21 Reading is Fundamental, Episode: s07e23 Survival of the Fittest, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, F/M, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Other, Past Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slasher48/pseuds/slasher48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She demands he “put up or shut up” and he’s confused again. It didn’t please her when he didn’t fight that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon Meg: a History

The demon kisses him and it feels like a blow—something he’s familiar with from demons, of course, retaliation against his power and perceived— _hated_ —superiority (and justified, from _this_ demon, if he recalls Carthage correctly). He processes this too slowly, vessel frozen in surprise as his grace roils, knocked off-kilter by her audacity. Somewhere there’s revulsion and somewhere there’s wonderment about a new, “human” experience, good or not. His vessel enacts those things, the response he’s chosen overpowering her easily, hand twisted in her hair in a way that hopefully hurts her.

It would have seemed impossible, but she tastes worse than she looks. He holds onto the novel sensation of a wet mouth through the onslaught of smoke against the tissue of his own and keeps in mind that she’s a _demon,_ who needs to be punished in whatever manner possible (though it cannot be fatal yet). Pulling away, he feels relief, so divinely satisfied when he looks away from his success on her face to Dean’s face, the picture of shock and awe, that his vessel relinquishes itself to panting breaths. His body reacts this way against his will and all he can think to say to redeem the experience is a “joke”, that Dean, at least, will understand.

“I learned that from the pizza man.” And he stares at her, blank and unamused, when she praises his skill. That’s what he wanted, he’s sure, but she is not as affected, not in the way he thinks she should be. She _won_ , to such a length that she’s stolen his sword in the melee. She’s _pleased_.

He’s never really pleased a demon before times this recent. It hangs on him like a taint, being beneficial to a _nother_ creature this abominable (and without much gain of his own, here). He stares at her for minutes afterward, trying to find something else in the horror that is her true face, hoping her vessel hides an amount of submission and defeat. It doesn’t; he marvels at this.

Burning Crowley, feeling Dean and Sam’s gratitude, is made even more satisfying, especially when she escapes the task he had been called for, and when Dean alludes to something more, something _worse_ than molecules of sulfuric smoke inhaled and a demon’s breathlessness at being overcome. What? _Why_?

He’s confused, he thinks, though the concept of sex behind closed doors is not foreign to him, and…disgusted, absolutely. It’s what he remembers of that _emotion_ , as though Anna has called for his allegiance again, as though Lucifer is finding him kindred, asking him to join his cause. His vessel rebels, and…panics? Maybe.

He wishes he had killed her, the brazen demon he pleased with his response to such conditions, but the war is more important. It can wait until his real enemies fall.

888

He can only have sensed her for the time he’s spent in the hospital, he realizes, though his nightmare—the punishing all-consuming mayhem swirling somewhere inside him, reminding him how much he deserves nothing, insisting demonic company is more than he deserves after what he’s done, lingers wispily after he wakes.

She talks to him when she thinks he can’t hear after he’s woken; he spends much of the time exhausted, but she makes sense when her words reach past and get to him. They’re soldiers, built to follow by their respective fathers, and she suffers, much as he does, from this universe’s conflict. Such pain, why couldn’t he see it before?

He tries to relate to her, now that he can relate to _anyone_ , and she slams him up against the wall again, so that his vessel trembles and his grace prepares for a fight. She kisses him and he’s unresisting: he owes everything to her, the sainted demon who stayed with a broken angel (how poetic), and if she wants this, she’s welcome to it. Despite his grace’s discomfiting protests, he doesn’t fight, and after moments, she pulls away, true face painted with anger and frustration under dark eyes and pursed lips. He doesn’t understand why she wants this if he’s already pleased her, doesn’t understand why she won’t take it, as he allows her to, payment for her presence.

“Totally useless,” she growls at him. “Can’t even fight _me_ , much less the King. You’re not missing mojo, Clarence, I can _feel_ it, but there’s something broken in you anyway, isn’t there.”

This is what shame feels like. He’s ashamed, because he can’t do anything right, not even for a _demon_. It’s familiar, and familiarity is the best he can hope for right now, with any other comforts far away and undeserved. He offers his body, holds his arms out and half-wishes Dean were here to talk to him through this: he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong to offend her, but he can’t find anything in him that didn’t expect that he would. He avoids it, avoids everything, impatient with his own shortcomings and frustrated by her expectations of him.

Over the hours until Dean comes—he is coming, his caretaker said, but he is still aware demons lie, even if this particular demon seems kinder than most—she talks to him more. Insists they’ll “get out of here” and he’ll be “back to his old sexy killer robot self”. He doesn’t really grasp her meaning, but he nods, agreeably, happy to have this assurance. Dean won’t want him, and Sam would be merciful just letting him live. But _she_ needs him, right?

He tries to prove to her his affection while Dean is around, fights through the dragging defeat and guilt to keep the one thing he is at all sure he has (so long as he has power). “…Thorny pain, so beautiful,” he remarks, tilting his head at her, as though he could see it. Though he can’t, it must be there; why else would she be with him? He’s just _barely_ what she wants.

She demands he “put up or shut up” and he’s confused again. It didn’t please her when he didn’t fight that.

He smiles at her, bemused but pleased that she wants him for _something_ , and forgets the tablet for too long.

Dean isn’t happy about that.

He disappears before he can hear too much of Dean’s unhappiness.

888

She’s furious when he finds her, and that’s familiar too—Dean’s angry with him as well, but Dean doesn’t understand him anymore in any case. Dean thinks he’s worth something: in battle, in general. Dean believes he can help subdue Leviathan and “fix it”, but Castiel cannot even subdue his own mind. Dean believes he is forgivable but does not forgive him yet; the demon Meg revels in how _bad_ he is, believes he doesn’t need to be forgiven for actions of which she approves, but forgives him nonetheless. He isn’t sure which he likes less, but she’s easier to please. Usually. He need strive for nothing more than Heaven taught, with her.

Glaring at him, she shoves him (he lets her) out of the door of the shack where she was hiding. He’s happy to have found her, to have someone around who understands that he’s useless unless he obeys and the universe is painful if he doesn’t, but she is not happy to see him. He manifests flowers for her, having watched this on television once and on Earth thousands of times, and she just laughs at him, until he calls bees to the flowers and dimly turns his focus to them. Disheartened, he lets her draw him back to Dean.

He can hear her, though likely neither of them know. “You take him, I can’t anymore.” And Dean protests.

No one ever can, or should have to. This is why Castiel likes animals, because they’re oblivious to whether or not he’s endurable (he’s not). They love him because he’s a companion and he aids their survival. Animal emotion is much simpler to navigate. Conflict with animals other than humans is minimal.

He should reward monkeys for defying the universe’s commitment to conflict better than humans, at that later stage, do. But how?

888

He thought of her surprisingly little in Purgatory. Then again, he was fighting for Dean’s life, alive only to keep his—Dean safe. He fought to distract, to draw attention, to divert strategic attacks on “the _human_ in Purgatory”, and the Leviathan—among others—were overjoyed to have _him_ to play with. He deserved nothing less, and if thoughts of her would have comforted him (it’s new, this wondering _if_ , as that seemed so _concrete_ before)…

The first time he sees her again, he’s startled by how…numb he feels. Where once something felt intense around her, if not wholly pleasant, now he’s. He doesn’t know emotions well enough to explain the complex nothing he feels. It’s not muted, as is a constancy he only learned after the battle—his resurrection—at Stull, it’s just…not really there. It should be, he might miss it…? But it’s gone.

He wants to protect her, knows he still owes her that much. But, her pleasantries perturb him—is “sweet” what he felt and what she wants that he should feel now? Her continued interest in sex unnerves him. He talks around her allusions, ignoring Naomi’s blaring disappointment as well as he can; she hasn’t taken over yet, so he must be doing an adequate job. He would have killed her, he realized earlier when Naomi hesitated to spare a demon. He _would_ have, he owes much more to Heaven than he does his demon nurse (and nursing her, that role reversal, is…). That changes things, that induces new perspective.

By the time he can hear Dean and Sam preparing to leave, she has stopped using evadable ambiguity about her demands. Protection, he may still owe her, as she protected him once upon a time—from himself. Friendship, even, with the standard accompanying aimless touch she gave then. But this he does not owe her. He never did.

He opens his mouth, to say yes but also _no_ , he understands but does not acquiesce, and they’re interrupted.

It’s only later as he’s fleeing the foray he created singlehandedly in that crypt with Dean, fleeing the _feeling_ of being undone and the unfortunate circumstance of being chased ( _again_ ), that he wonders whether she’ll live long enough to kiss him, demand he answer the attack in kind, a third time.

It truly doesn’t matter, and that’s a comforting certainty as he wars with how much else in his life _does_.

**Author's Note:**

> It's important to me that this exists. That's all I'm going to say.
> 
> (Rated Explicit because sexual assault should be.)


End file.
